


So Kind

by shaniceisfalling



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Imprisonment, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 08:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaniceisfalling/pseuds/shaniceisfalling
Summary: "I’ll forgive myself for it later. The things he makes me do again and again."This is my interpretation of the sexual assault that Kaneki may have had to endure during his captivity. Not necessarily romanticizing the abuse or the situation. Just exploring the relationship dynamics and the possible Stockholm and Lima syndromes. And the disturbing horror





	So Kind

I watch the wrench, gasping, panting.

Waiting.

There’s a kind of pain that’s intolerable. You think you can’t stand it a second longer, and then you go on and do it. You do just that, _stand it_ , because you have no other choice.

You lose your mind in the process though.

I don’t know when I lost my mind. Was it in the middle of his hands grinding off bits of me from parts of me, or was it in the time between that? The time I had to just sit there and wait for him to walk back through those doors and start it all over again?

His shoulders move over me. His hand reaches down. I flinch. I tell myself not to, but I flinch anyway. I’ll forgive myself for it later. I forgive myself for the things I can’t control. The things he makes me do, again and again.

I forgive myself for how my voice sounds. How I beg, breathlessly. Silently. I do it as automatically as breathing. “Please. _Don’t_.”

The wrench moves closer to my member. My hips, confined to the small space of the chair can’t get away. I close my eyes, lips trembling. Not from fear, maybe a little from that actually, but it’s more from anticipation. _Just do it already_ …  _Please_. My teeth chatter, and I resist the urge to cry out. To beg him to just get it over with if he’s gonna.

The metal brushes the fabric of my pants, or what’s left of it. His free hand reaches up to my face, my lips, and he runs his thumb across the cracking, bleeding skin. “Why do you act like I only ever hurt you?”

I shiver.

“I’ve done more for you, haven’t I?” He looks up at me and I don’t have an answer. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s ripped my penis off, in one yank, slowly twisting and grinding it and pulling every nerve and bit of it out of me in a bloody mess. So I have a valid reason to be afraid.

But no… he’s right, that’s not all he’s done to my penis. His fingers brush the front fabric and I can’t stop moving under his touch.

“What kind of day do you want to have today Kaneki?” he asks me.

I just let that word slip from my lips again, automatically. “Please.”

“Please what?”

There are times when I hate him more than usual. Now is not one of those times. Now is one of the times when I hate myself. I let myself turn to nothing before him. I beg this man like it’s all I can do, because it is. “Please fuck me today… I want you.”

He doesn’t waste any time. I knew he wouldn’t. He only offers when he will, and he would whether I’d asked for it or not. By cooperating, I just minimized the pain involved in it, in regard to that wrench.

He puts the wrench away and then comes back with his hands on my hips. “Up,” he commands.

I do as told, lifting my ass from the chair, sorely.

He pulls my pants down and grabs ahold of me. I flinch. He’s rough, he yanks at it, teasing it between his fingers. I try to follow his motion to minimize the blows.

“Stay.” He shoves me back where he wants me and runs a finger up and down my length again and again. He watches my foreskin move around curiously. I watch him watch me get harder and harder, somehow despite the pain.

He stands up abruptly and pulls his own pants down. It’s already hard, his dick. He reaches down and strokes it a few times. “Are you watching?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

I lick my dry lips. I can barely speak. “Yes, I’m watching.”

“Hmm,” he moves closer and I open my mouth. I show him that I’m opening my mouth so he doesn’t get mad.

He shoves my head down to meet his dick. Right before it touches my lips, he looks at me pointedly and makes me look at him. It’s a warning. _Don’t try anything_. I won’t. He should know that by now.

I wrap my lips around him and bob my head as best as I can. I’m getting so weak these days. I remember being able to do this faster, but then again, those days I didn’t want to do it at all.

Things change. Things become bearable that you wouldn’t think could. He sticks one of his fingers into my mouth as I suck his member. He likes to feel where my mouth and his cock connect. Don’t ask why, I don’t. I just accommodate him and accommodate him and do whatever he wants, and I feel dirty and needy in a way I’d never imagined I would before. I never imagined a man could do this kind of thing to another man before. But I’m not even a man, am I? I’m just a boy.

Hide crosses my mind, but I push the thought of a guy I’ll never see again away.

Jason pulls himself out of my mouth and a saliva trail follows, falling down my chin. I’d wipe it if I could. He doesn’t even seem to notice or care. He tries to position me to enter me, but the angle isn’t right. It just hurts and it isn’t working. We could make it work like this, but it doesn’t have to.

I gesture towards my restraints. I’m too afraid to ask _aloud_ , but I have to ask. He says yes sometimes. Sometimes being the operative word.

He stares at my bindings for a while, tight jawed. He runs his hands up and down my exposed thighs. Then he frees my legs.

I smile, gratefully. I move them for the first time since the last time, and the last time was a while ago. I wiggle my sore ankles. He gives me a look. I stay still and let him lift my bum to where he wants it. I clear my throat and look at my arms.

His gaze hardens.

I look down submissively. I try to keep my fingers still. My arms ache to be released. It hurts to not be able to do something as simple as scratch your nose, or as complex as hold yourself after someone’s ripped away pieces of you. I just want to be “free” for a moment, not even.

But it doesn’t matter how I feel about it. I keep my eyes down. I won’t push it anymore. It’s his choice.

“ _If only he’d been so kind to me_ ,” Jason mutters under his breath. I feel the restraints pop open and my chest floods with comfort. I rub my wrists and stretch my arms. I hear my back crack and I sigh with relief.

He tilts my chin up, head back, forcefully. He gives me a hard look, a warning. _No funny business._ I nod. It reminds me of the first time we did it.

_________________________________________________

One time, a long time ago. Not quite at the beginning but not quite now, I asked him why he did this sort of thing to me, the torture. Why he wanted to hurt me.

He seemed disturbed by the question somehow. He hurt me for a while longer than usual that day, but before he left, he lingered over me. He cracked his fingers and watched me. He just watched me. He just stared at me without saying a thing, and then he did say something.

He said it as a whisper, a dirty secret, a second guessed thought almost in passing. “I _have_ to do this to you,” he said firmly. Not loudly. He did it just the way one would recite a fact. “It makes it stop in my head.” He could barely get the words out. “The counting doesn’t make sense without it, and my fingers ache, and...” the words died on his lips slowly. He shook his head, almost tiredly. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

I shook my head. I told him, “I think I do.”

He raised an eyebrow and stared at me.

I said nothing else, for fear of having said the wrong thing.

He chuckled. “Of course you do… you look at me the way I looked at him.”

I frowned, for some reason beyond my understanding. It made me sick to think of him with someone else. I tried to change the topic. “How do you look at me?”

He looked surprised. I loved surprising him. It was the only way to fight him in this. To resist. To show any semblance of power or control over myself. It was the only way to remember I was Kaneki and who that was.

He narrowed his eyes and grinned in a way that had stopped scaring me by then.

“I look at you like he looked at me.” He yanked my hair back and bit into my exposed flesh. I cried out, just the way he wanted me to, for hours. I fought against him, though. I cried, and pissed and moaned, and begged him not to then.

Now? I prefer him to use me in that way. Rape (can it even be called that anymore?) is bearable in comparison to the other things he could do to my body.

_________________________________________________

I feel myself rip apart again and again with every thrust of his hips. I dig into his shoulders and cry out against his neck. He grunts as yet another warning, _don’t try anything_ so close to his neck. I don’t know how to prove to him that I wouldn’t in a way he’ll believe me. Because I really wouldn’t. Not on a day like this when he’s being merciful.

On days like this I almost forget he’s the person who’s hurt me, the person who’s keeping me here. I haven’t felt the warmth of another person in so long. I hold him close to me and think, no one’s been this kind to me in a while.

He breaks me apart and I thank him... I thank him? I like it, don’t I? Do I? I shouldn’t but I think I do even though I think I shouldn’t be thinking this way at all. I should be afraid. A man, _this_ man, has taken me and will not let me go. This man won’t stop hurting me to the point that lesser pains have turned to signs of compassion in my head. He’s fucking me up.

I think I’ll die here. I wonder if did, would he miss me?

I want to cry when I think he wouldn’t. That this has only affected my life monumentally and really amounts to nothing to him. I hold him closer, meet each one of his thrusts with my own hips. It’s sick, and I don’t understand why I do it, why I need this, but I’ll forgive myself for it later. I have no other choice.

“There you go,” he whispers against my flesh. “ _Dance for me, boy._ ”

Those words overwhelm me. I cling to him. I can’t let go. I want him so bad. I need him to take me all the way, like he always does in everything he subjects me to.

“You’re mine, you know that? _My_ Kaneki. _My_ whore. Look what I’ve turned you into.” He cums inside me and I follow close behind. Release is the only pleasure he allows me in this world, and our small space in it. He doesn’t pull out of me right away, another pleasure allotted. He lingers inside me, not quite letting me go yet. “You’re not that nice boy from the coffee shop anymore, are you?” he asks.

I know it’s not the kind of question he wants an answer for, so I stay silent. I listen to the silence of the room, and I trail my fingers across the expanse of his back. His shoulders. His face. He allows me that in this.

I don’t know if I’m afraid or excited anymore. I don’t know who I am, or the person I’ve become. There’s just this, and him, and nothing else. Not even me anymore.

“I wish every day was like this,” I whisper against his heated flesh.

“ _Hmm_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes :/ Killing Stalking vibes anyone? :X This isn't inspired by that work, but I can't help but think of it in hindsight
> 
> Any who~ If anyone's a HidexKaneki shipper, tell me! I'd love to write a fic about them (one that's not depressing and horrifying like this lol xD I swear I can write normal stuff. Believe in me~)
> 
> Or, if you actually are a JasonxKaneki shipper, I could consider a real world AU where they're in an abusive relationship. I won't romanticize it like it's healthy, but I could explore it in a way similar to this work in which I show a degree of sympathy for both parties


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